


How the Brothers Grew to Love Each Other

by Blueberryjuice



Series: Mylock Journies [1]
Category: Sherlock(tv)
Genre: Any other things read to find out, Holmescent, Rimming, blow-jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryjuice/pseuds/Blueberryjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like Mycroft/Sherlock porns, sorry if I'm the only one- I decided to make a collection of them<br/>Fluff+Porn, and there is a plot-read to find out, can't really summarize it becasue it's my first time<br/>making this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Care For You

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some comments- I don't even want positive comments, I really want to know your opinions. There won't be any sex for a while, people-Sorry. Donovan, Anderson, Lestrade, and John won't appear for a while. This is short, really, but I'll make the next one longest as I can.

"Really, Mother. I don't feel that I have to do this- I couldn't care less about birthdays, so just leave it!" Sherlock snapped. Mycroft rubbed his eyes, sighed tiredly, and Mother cooed gently, "It's your eighteenth birthday! Sherly-" "It's SHERLOCK-" "Sorry, yes, SHERLOCK, it's your EIGHTEENTH birthday, and you boys must have a celebration together!" Mother was growing impatient. "Mycroft, deal with this- it's eight days till his birthday, I'm leaving the town before then, and deal with him." With that, she swept out of the room, her elegant gown flouncing behind her. The embarrassing silence that followed was quickly interrupted. 

"Sherlock, be here on your birthday." Mycroft sighed again. "Every day is the same to me- I don't care about birthdays!" Sherlock declared. "Well, Mother cares. I promise that I'll stay out of your way- we just have to be seen together for Mummy's sake." "Oh, Fuck. I'm so happy that I'm stuck with you!" Sherlock snapped. A flicker of hurt passed over Mycroft's face-Sherlock caught that, of course. It passed quickly, however. "Be there." Mycroft swept out of the room and walked cautiously to his own room. 

Mycroft, as soon as he reached his room, bolted the door and slided down. He sobbed quietly. He knew that this love was sin, couldn't happen, and that he was plainly wrong, but he loved his brother ever since when Sherlock defended him against the drunken car. He was delighted at the chance to be with Sherlock, but he was wrong. He stood up quickly, however, when he felt a knock at his door.  
"Mycroft..Can you let me in?" Sherlock whispered. No comment. "Mycroft!" Sherlock huffed. The door swung open, and Mycroft stood in front of Sherlock. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Sherlock?" Sherlock was stung at the tear stains on his brother's face. Sherlock didn't have a single clue why his brother was so stung- he never showed his hurt when Sherlock teased about his weight. "Nothing, brother-dear, just wanted to tell you I'll be there." With that, he slinked out of the room.

Mycroft was confused. What changed Sherlock so suddenly? Sherlock didn't possess a heart, that was widely known, so what changed Sherlock? He quickly checked the mirror. Did he look so piteous? Yup, he did. There were visible tear stains that he didn't wipe away. "God Damn It!" Mycroft swore, than quickly looked around to see if Mummy heard- if she did, there would be an unendurable lecture- God knows what his ears will suffer. Mycroft sighed and snuggled under his flannel pyjamas. It was only seven.p.m., but he didn't want to do anything. He picked up a book- Pride and Prejudice. He sighed again. Sherlock's pride about himself and the world's prejudice about loving his brother made him like this, he thought with anger. He threw the book away, and picked up another one- The Great Gatsby. He read it already. He went through numerous amount of books but he grew depressed. He went out for a cartoon of ice cream. 

Sherlock heard Mycroft throwing numerous amount of books. He quietly picked up two books, slipped a note, pushed it in Mycroft's room, and went away. 

Mycroft came back and saw two books- both were covered with a paper, but he knew immeidately that it wasn't a novel. It was a...storybook? He tore the papaers apart and smirked. Their favorite bedtime stories were packed in there, along with a note- Sorry 'bout that- hope you read this to me on my birthday, I do miss that times when you read it to me, I really do. 

Mycroft quietly smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leading up to sex, I'm gonna make this story a series, I like this plot. Got to end it someday, though.
> 
> Thank you for giving me kudos! I really didn't expect that someone would bookmark me....Gave me hope.

Sherlock's birthday was coming near, and Mycroft's nerves were hitting on the rough end. Sherlock was becoming a brat every second, and Mycroft just _bloody couldn't_ stand it! Sherlock seemed to pop up everywhere that he went, following his every move, and nagging him at every single object. "Mycroft, I see you have been hitting on the cakes again- getting some stress? Your girlfriend's not going to like that too much." Sherlock smirked, giving him another jab on the stomach. Mycroft daintly sipped at his tea, but couldn't refrain from choking on it a bit when Sherlock mused, "You must love her so much, having wet dreams in the middle of the night, but you know, I thought that you were...well..." Sherlock smirked again, knowing that Mycroft thought that Sherlock didn't catch up on that single fact. "E-Excuse me?" Mycroft stuttered. "Gay, Mycroft, _gay_."  Mycroft daintly sipped at his tea again and muttered, "I suppose I'll put some chocolate cakes. You'll have yours in your room, I suppose." "God, Mycroft, I hate cakes. You know that." Sherlock was just about to say something hurtful, but  his look of do-as-I-say-or-suffer-in-hell looks, so Sherlock clammed up.

Sherlock was goddamn smart, too smart for Mycroft's liking, to be honest. Mother came in at that moment, took one look at shaking Mycroft, and leaned over. "Mycroft, dear, are you fine? Is Sherlock bothering you so much? I didn't mean for you to gain stress from that, I wanted you boys to gain some...bond between you after that...that..." Mother looked quite worried. Mycroft shook his head, plastered on a fake smile, dusted invisible dust from his lap, and said, "Fine, everything's fine, Sherlock's a good little angel. I'm just shaken up on all the preparations, but it feels good to be on charge, Mother, don't worry about me, please."

_"Mycroft, this is Redbeard! Redbeard, this is Mycroft!" Sherlock smiled. "William Scott Sherlock Holmes, what did you do again? Dear GOD, THAT'S A DOG! A BLO-" Mycroft caught himself and told him, "Take that to the center, you are not allowed to have a dog in this household, Sherlock." Mycroft didn't mention the fact that he was allergic to dogs- Sherlock would tease him endlessly and he told Sherlock that he was invincible. Incredible, Mycroft mused, how 10 year olds can receive information without doubts. Sherlock made a firm line on his mouth and shook his head. "NO!" Sherlock yelled. He ran away with the dog, but the dog leaped upon Mycroft, realizing his fears, and started to tear Mycroft's limbs apart. Mycroft was sized up with fear. He didn't know what to do, and he grabbed the thing nearest and hit it upon the dog's head. It was very unlucky that the 'thing' on his hand was a stiff piece of wood. Redbeard immediately died from head concussion. Mycroft didn't see Sherlock from that moment until when Sherlock was 15._

It was the day of Sherlock's birthday, and Sherlock was surprisingly courteous in receiving guests; courteous for Mycroft. Sherlock didn't point out the obvious fact that Mother's friend was having an affair with Mother's gardener- that proved Sherlock was trying to be courteous. It didn't stop Sherlock from whispering it to Mycroft. Sherlock received his cousin's kisses without grimace, accepted his uncle's hug without wiping himself on the clothtable. That was extremely polite. "To Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted above the noise. The people were in high humor, and recited, "To Sherlock Holme and his good health!" Everyone clinked their glasses, laughed, and drank as they could. Mycroft just wanted them to leave their goddamn house so that he could have some time with Dear Brother of his own.

Sherlock felt highly uncomfortable when Mycroft and he was left alone in the great big mansion all by themselves. How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to say? What should he do? He didn't know anything. He just flopped down on the comfortable couch in the library, and Mycroft came in, humming, carrying some scotch. "Want some?" Mycroft cheerfully pourded the liquids out. "That looks quite expensive," Sherlock murmured. "To your good health," Mycroft clinked his glass and merely smiled. Sherlock tasted the liquor and stuttered, "God, Mycroft, that must've costed hundreds of pounds! How did you buy that? I thought you simply occupied a minor position in the government." Mycroft looked amused. "I've been giving you hints about my positoin for ages, Sherlock, don't tell me you didn't catch that- Yes, I do occupy a minor position in the government for 'show'. How would Britain look if they had a 25- years -old Prime Minister?" Sherlock looked amazed. "Prime Minister? So you are pretty important, are you?" "Yes, Sherlock, to your great amusement." Mycroft chided. "I didn't know you could be so important, Mycroft- I amamazed, to be honest." Mycroft looked quite offended. "Mycroft, have you been drugging? You are having difficulties with hiding your emotions these days." Sherlock scorned. "I'm going to have a shower- Try not to start a war, you know how water gets scarce if war starts." Sherlock smirked, and Mycroft returned his smirk with a raised eyebrow. "I'll try, brother-mine."

Mycroft felt his heart beat with Sherlock's comment of a shower- If they weren't linked, if they weren't linked by bloood, if they werent...just... a Holmes, they could've been having a shower together, sharing them happily without no concern of the world's raised eyebrows and nasty comments- but alas, that wasn't to be. He felt, more than heard, the steaming water coming to contact with Sherlock's skin. Sherlock hummed a tune- what was it? It wasn't a classic, not a pop song, but something good- something of a memory flashback-

  _"'Coff, I want to hear that again!" Sherlock insisted, his tiny fists flinging out to the piano, making a loud, banging sound. "Why do you insist on this song, I do not know, Sherlock. I know how to play plenty of other songs- Why do you insist on this?" Mycroft sighed. It was the third time today that Sherlock asked Mycroft to play Yiruma's Love Me. "'Cause I can't play it myself." Sherlock frowned. His tiny hands were no match for the song. "Please?" Sherlock peered up to Mycroft through his long eyelashes and deer-like eyes. Mycroft smiled and played the song again._

Sherlock came out of the shower, a white bathrobe around his, his pale necks exposing, looking so vulnerable. His lips were bright red with droplets clinging to it. Mycroft, without thinking, crushed his lips against Sherlock's, tasting Sherlock and a faint taste of mint and scotch, closing his eyes so that he couldn't see the act that he was doing. He crushed Sherlock's body against his, and kissed his younger brother.


End file.
